


So John Has This Dream

by Emby_M



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Arthur Talks Dirty, F/M, Fingering, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Teasing, Threesome - F/M/M, mentions of pegging, they all love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 08:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17556545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emby_M/pseuds/Emby_M
Summary: It seems like they're close as ever -- closer even, in the way Arthur drags his hand around the span of Abigail's waist andwhistleson days she laces her corset close. In the way Arthur presses kisses to the corner of Abigail's mouth and she giggles and throws an arm around his neck.-Arthur and Abigail are very close these days, after the year he left, and John's imagination takes off running with it.





	So John Has This Dream

John has a lot of ideas.

John has a lot of ideas, specifically about this newfound tension Arthur and Abigail were sharing. Not bad tension, just this kind of -- intimate push-pull that entrances him.

It seems like they're close as ever -- closer even, in the way Arthur drags his hand around the span of Abigail's waist and _whistles_ on days she laces her corset close. In the way Arthur presses kisses to the corner of Abigail's mouth and she giggles and throws an arm around his neck.

Arthur showed him another journal. A secret one. For his, and John's, and Abigail's eyes only.

The pages were full of these delicate pencil sketches -- pencil sketches of Abigail nude as God made her, in all these poses. The care Arthur took shows, dedicated to rendering the supple curve of Abigail's breast, the sweet way her loose hair falls on her pillow, even -- even a few with her legs open, Arthur's tender hand tracing the outlines of his wife's pussy with a similar care.

It's -- an experience, when Arthur shows him, Abigail sitting by and smiling. Arthur murmurs low into his ear that _listen, the amount of times I nearly fucked this woman is remarkable. If you'd been gone another year, you would have found us married and happily consummated._

It does something to John. Suddenly something that had been an angle with him in the middle was now -- it seemed -- a real triangle. And John, whose imagination has always been a strong suit, takes off with it running.

So he has this dream.

 

Arthur binds his wrists behind his back with a practice and a fondness. Abigail is standing there in her chemise, smiling down at him. He's on his knees and watching the two of them with the kind of low-pooling heat in his stomach that's either fear or lust. Or a mix of both.

Arthur touches Abigail sweetly, coming beside her and kissing her like he means it. She means it too, and John is lost in the way they kiss, practiced-like, this devastating intimacy he hadn't been there for. Arthur's hands pulls her closer, one hand sneaking back down to just cup --not grab -- at her ass, and she gasps a delighted little fluttering "hey!" before kissing him again.

When Arthur moves down to kiss and lick at her neck, she looks at John with this grin -- this "are you having fun?" grin, this "do you see what he's doing?" grin, this "does this stir something in you?" grin. Yes, yes, and yes.

When Arthur sucks a welt along the tan skin of her collarbone, she lets out this gasp and fists a hand in his hair. "You okay?" He murmurs, and the down-soft way she whispers "Do it again," sends that pooling heat in John's gut lower.

Arthur presses an apologetic kiss to the first one before suckling a new one right beside it.

"I'll save the other collarbone for John-boy," Arthur laughs, low. John strains against the ropes, swallowing the lump in his throat.

She just sighs against him as he pulls her chemise over her head.

John's always loved her body -- the sturdy, supple way she's put together, where freckles and hair spark along her skin, the skin so so pale on her breasts. Loves her body more after giving birth, the loose softness of her belly and the silvery ruts of stretch marks. Loves it loves it loves it.

Arthur caresses her like he would, as she works on Arthur's clothes, exposing those freckled, sun-tanned shoulders, nearly golden in the lamplight. He's beautiful, although he never believes it.

And they're both naked, and he's delighted when Abigail comes over to him, tracing the line of his stubbly jaw with gentle fingers, his mouth on level with the charming bush of hair, like if she just moved forward his mouth could be on her -- he can feel the heat of her, the scent of her from here and it makes his mouth _water_.

But she doesn't move forward. Arthur comes forward instead, leaning along her back. They're all so close -- John's low-pooling lust ripples with the ideas of what they're going to do.

Arthur's arm comes around Abigail's waist, his big hand cupping the slope of her belly. The other hand wanders down, down, fingers finally pressing between her legs. Abigail gasps and holds his arm against her, her legs going funny.

It's all so close and John is mostly hard now. Arthur touches her like he knows -- and maybe they'd been lying to him, that they hadn't fucked. He touches her easily and it's so close and John can feel the heat of her from here and he just wants to bury his face between her thighs and eat her out until he suffocates.

"Mm," Abigail moans, "Should we sit? Give John the full display?"

Arthur chuckles, this almost-cruel sound, the laugh he'd laughed when Dutch walked in on the two of them rutting like animals, the only time Dutch ever listened without question or comment when Arthur barked "Leave," when John complained that it killed the mood but Arthur ramped him back up fast enough that he was coming against Arthur's thick thigh, clutching tight on him.

They rearrange. God, it's all so much. John's knees are aching but he finds he can't seem to care, not when Arthur supports Abigail on her way down and then clutches her into his chest like he's delighted to see her, an embrace that wasn't only lust, but this real love too. John cares even less when Arthur pulls her back into his chest and guides her legs open over his.

"Got a good view, John?" He murmurs, real low. A pretty flush decorates Abigail's face and chest, but she's smiling the whole way through.

"Uh-huh," he drools.

Arthur sets his chin on Abigail's shoulder and returns to their previous pose -- only this time everything is perfectly clear, on display. Tantalizingly close and delightfully erotic.

There's something to watching his lover -- his best friend, his husband, whatever -- circle his wife's clit in a way he knows she loves. Something lurid about watching her laugh, weakly, at the touch, the way she reaches back to cup his head, to press a giggling kiss to his cheek as Arthur focuses like it was the most important thing in the world.

Arthur's fingers slip lower, through her folds and back up.

"Mm," he groans, "Not quite wet enough. Not for John anyway."

At his name, he perks, looking up at the two of them.

Abigail smiles and drags fond fingers against his jaw again, murmuring, "You want to eat me out, John? Or just watch?"

"I want-" he croaks, voice trapped in his throat, "I wanna eat you out."

"Say it nice," Arthur hums, pressing firm but sure as he strokes Abigail. The hitch in her breath that results is so sweet John's on the verge of tears.

"I wanna eat you out, please," he begs, "Please."

"You'll get to when she's ready," Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss to Abigail's neck, "But we need to work her open first."

Arthur's fingers dip low again and then press into her.

The sigh Abigail lets out -- high and satisfied -- is a sound he'll never get tired of. Better are the soft little moans she lets out when Arthur starts fucking her with his fingers.

It's one hell of an image. Arthur's stocky fingers pressing in and out of his wife's pussy, this pretty pinkness, that wetness. The twitch of Abigail's thick thighs he wants wrapped around his head an hour ago, the strain of the ropes along his wrists. The luridness of this -- how every other concern slips away.

"Lemme get deeper," Arthur groans against Abigail's neck, and she giggles a laugh as they lean forward together, her hips shifting so she's near-impaling herself on Arthur's hand. Abigail's head comes to rest on John's shoulder, and it's the worst thing to ever happen to him, being this close and yet unable to touch her.

Those moans turn un-gentle pretty fast, the way Arthur rocks his hand up against her.

"Curl your fingers," he says to Arthur, who is inches from him and yet a world away, "She'll-"

"Oh-" she moans, and Arthur's already there, and Abigail is near sobbing with pleasure, throwing her arms around John's neck and fisting a hand in his hair.

John presses a kiss to her temple, as she falls apart on Arthur's hand, unable to do much else. Arthur holds her tight, holds them all together, chuckles against her back with sweet words of praise and dirty provocations for John.

"She's nice and ready for you," he chuckles, pulling her away and opening her up again. It's even worse this time, Abigail's expression dazed, the flush even stronger, strong enough the freckles on her face are lost. Her folds are so pink, almost red, and she's lewdly wet -- but you'll never hear him complain about that.

"You gonna untie him?" She asks, fingers tracing along Arthur's bearded chin.

"Naw," Arthur chuckles, "Let him squirm."

She laughs too. Abigail reaches for him, but he's already tipping, trying to lie down even with his knees stiff and tingly under him.

Even close, it makes his mouth water, the scent of her, the heat of her. Arthur's hand is tracing her inner thigh -- he wants to kiss there, bite there, leave a luridly purple welt just on the inside, where he knows she's sensitive, where he knows she loves to be kissed, but his mouth buries against her and there's little time for anything else.

She moans low, her hands fisting in his hair. He doesn't have a lot of places to go, not with the way his hips are pushing forward, back against his knees, barely able to lay flat. He wishes he was just as ecstatically naked as they are -- with his ass up like this, he wishes Arthur could reach over and get him ready for either of them -- or both of them.

That's a thought, Arthur with his cock and Abigail with her funny rubber one both fucking him at the same time -- or taking turns, building him up fast and then bringing him down just as quick until the other one slammed into him -- the way he'd come apart by the end, barely a person but screaming their names like it was scripture.

A thought for another time, though, because he can barely get a breath in as she presses him close against her, as he laves his tongue in just the way she likes, this kind of long stroke through her lips and then a meandering trace downwards. He's on the edge of coming just from this, gonna ruin his trousers, but he just can't seem to find the space to care very much.

"Oh," Abigail sighs, and when he looks up Arthur's caressing her breasts the way she loves, firmly cupping them and rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He's talking dirty against her neck -- he can hear the parade of words but can't make them out into sense, not in his desperate, rutting haze like this, "You're beautiful- Lookit him, taking you down like this- You like that-"

Abigail's moans get sharper, faster -- she's babbling "yes, yes, oh god, yes, please-" and pulling him in so close he really thinks he'll suffocate but he's not going to stop even for the end of the world, or if Dutch walked in on them again- Her thighs are clamping close and the world is blocked out just to his animal need to fuck his wife with his tongue until- until-

Until she's near sobbing, gripping into his hair and pushing him away even as he chases her down - "Oh God, stop, stop- it's too much, please, boys-" Until he's near sobbing and coming in his trousers, hot and sudden and inevitable.

Arthur pushes him back onto his knees.

John's ruined his trousers, his hair a mess, face covered in his wife's wetness, and Arthur looks at him grinning. Devious. Abigail's catching her breath, collapsed against Arthur's broad chest.

"Abby," he says, gently, hands on her waist, getting her to sit up, "Look at what we've done to our boy."

She smiles at John. It's a great smile, and John smiles too, as exhausted and tingly as he is.

And then Abigail murmurs, "You still need your turn, Arthur."

She rolls off him, exposing the whole front of him, the way his knees are up. He's hard and as thick as ever.

He's never felt envious of Abigail before, but the idea of the sensation of that cock sliding up against his back is tantalizing. More tantalizing? Another round of oral, Arthur shoving down his throat until he was wrecked, the taste and feeling of him all-consuming.

She has other ideas, though, and helps guide him back so they're sitting together, his legs open, back against her chest. Arthur grins at them.

"Uh," John says, "What-"

She presses a little kiss to his neck, in that spot he loves. Her hands come around his slim waist and undo his fly.

"Abigail, honey, I'm not gonna be ready to go for a while-"

"It's not what I'm getting to," she chuckles, "Help me out here, Arthur?"

She shucks the trousers off his hips and Arthur comes up on his knees to help pull them off.

That's- different. Somehow he feels so much more naked than naked, in just his shirt. Abigail undoes a couple more buttons, dipping her hand against his ribs as she kisses his neck more.

Arthur watches it all, with a smile. The slow heat he watches the two of them with is -- electrifying. Dangerous-feeling. Like if he's not careful, or if they were allowed, maybe it would just be this non-stop, rollicking fuckfest for the rest of their lives. John, here, spread open with his head nestled in his wife's cleavage, doesn't think that'd be a bad thing. There's so much more to see.

"Should I untie him yet?" She asks, as visions of Arthur fucking Abigail so sweetly parade in front of his eyes, a pleasurable hallucination. Abigail bouncing on Arthur as John fucks him. Oh, there was [so] much more to do.

"When he gets up here, sure," Arthur murmurs, dragging his fingers down the turn of John's ankle. It's stupid how much it affects him, the bright shiver it sends along his spine.

"Gonna be kind of hard to prep him that way," she sing-songs, but doesn't question the decision.

John's ears perk at the sound of the salve lid, and Arthur laughs at him. "He's twitchin' for us already."

"I'm-" he tries to say, but finds no words to describe the pin-pricking feeling that settles in his thighs, this anticipation. Even through his exhaustion, he's ready again.

"Do you want to watch?" She murmurs.

"Mm, I don't think you can reach from there." Arthur says, coming up onto his knees, "Bring him up here."

They're talking like he's not there, and he kind of loves it. Leaves no room for him to think or decide -- and somehow, that's so much better, knowing he trusts these two enough to let them use him like a plaything. He knows that if he was unsure for even a second, these two would know, and check in, and stop, but he's not uncertain. Just ready and willing to let them do what they want.

Abigail coaxes him up again so John's forehead rests on Arthur's shoulder. Immediately, Arthur's hands come to rest on him, this embrace that was just so _glad_  to see him, to have him close. It's clear in the way he cups John's skull, smooths a rough palm along his still-shirted shoulders, the gentle kisses he presses to John's temple.  
"Are you ready, John," Abigail asks, pressing herself close against the curve of his ass. God, this is crazy, this need, this want -- all the tension and delight.

"Yeah," he moans against Arthur's neck.

She presses a blunt finger inside of him and he groans.

Arthur laughs as he holds him steady. "You're a magician, Abby. He's never moaned like that for me."

"I'm not usually-" he starts, until she's pushing in quick and he forgets what words are.

"You ain't usually what," Arthur teases, starting to nibble on his neck, where the collar of his shirt's fallen away.

"I'm not usually- ugh," he moans, pressing into Arthur's shoulder with the intensity of Abigail's pace, "'m not usually post-orgasm, or between -- Abigail, please-"

She laughs, pressing a kiss against the cottony shirt.

"Cmon, use your words, John-boy," Arthur smiles.

"I'm not usually -- Christ, Abigail," he mumbles as she presses in a second finger. He's so goddamn ready for this that she's able to go faster than usual, "I'm- not usually between the two of you and needing - oh, god, please, Abigail," she dips her fingers in real deep and he shudders, until Arthur sinks his teeth into the meat of his neck and words leave him entirely.

"You shut him up?" Abigail sing-songs again, "Let me try."

And then she's pressing up on his prostate and he thinks his fucking _consciousness_ disappears for a second. Arthur is sucking on his neck and she's pushing relentlessly into him and he's not really a person anymore but a bundle of nerves that are all telling him they're on fire.

"Ain't that lovely," Arthur murmurs, tracing gentle fingers along his nape, "Look at you, you're gorgeous, sweetheart."

"You're bigger than two of my fingers, aren't you?" She says, peering over his shoulder to Arthur, who smiles. Abigail slides her free hand to his open shirt, where she rolls the stiffening nub of his nipple between her two fingers. John's hips buck at the air.

"Mmhm," Arthur hums, "Don't want to break poor John on my cock, do we?"

John's not so sure. He might really like that actually. More pressing is the need for Arthur to be in him, now, with this crazy frenetic energy that builds the more they talk and the more fingers she scissors in and out of him.

"Please," he whines, forehead hot and sweaty against Arthur's shoulder, "Please, fuck me already. I - oh god, please."

"Isn't it sweet," Arthur growls, a grin along his lips. "Gimme that salve, Abby."

She hands him the pot and starts to untie John's hands, finally.

Arthur slicks himself fast and Abby's there behind John, nudging him closer with her knees, pressing him over Arthur's swollen cock.

The moment his hands are free he throws them around Arthur's neck, burying his face. The sweet warmth of his skin is like a balm, soothing his feverish brow. Arthur lines up his cock, but it's Abigail who guides John down onto it.

Oh god. There's nothing like it. John starts bucking his hips the moment Arthur's inside, but Abigail's little hands force him all the way down, until he's stretched wide and pressed so close to Arthur.

"Good, darlin'?" She chimes in his ear. Arthur's hold around his back is gentle, his broad hands sweeping sweet paths up and down.

"So good," he murmurs.

"I can't believe you're hard again," Arthur laughs, as Abigail coaxes John back up again, Arthur barely still inside.

"Me neither," he mumbles. He's not eloquent by any means, but god he's happy about it.

Abigail slams him back down on Arthur's cock, and a strangled groan leaves his lips.

This is so much, and he never wants it to end.

Arthur's grinding against him now, and Abigail's only suggesting his movement by her hand along his side, fingers digging into his hipbone -- most of it's him now, crazy with the intensity of lust he's feeling -- he's not gonna last long and he really hopes Arthur doesn't last either.

Abigail's pressed full against his back now and is biting hard into his shoulder-blade, and Arthur's rolling his hips and fucking John hard and- oh god, oh god.

It's like drowning, but the best version of drowning he can imagine, his face still wet from eating out his wife, getting fucked by his friend, his husband, really -

He feels the orgasm building again quick, scrabbles his fingers against Arthur's back because he can't speak anymore, not with the way he's moaning and the way Abigail's raking her dull nails down his chest. Arthur's close too, the way his hands grasp his ass, spreading him even further open-

Arthur bites his shoulder hard and John feels him come inside, hot and full and so, so good. It's one stuttering movement of his hips later that he comes, spattering along Arthur's chest and smearing as he twitches down off yet another orgasm.

Abigail laughs. Kind of a funny, disbelieving laugh. She presses herself full against John's now limp back, and she and Arthur share a kiss over his shoulder.

"You alright, John?" She murmurs against his ear.

"Nev'r bett'r," he slurs, holding up a loose 'ok' sign. 

"You know," she says, a little hint to her voice, "I got kind of riled up again, watching you two. Think we can go again?"

**Author's Note:**

> And that's when John wakes up. There was no great way to pull that move moment so I thought I'd tell you folks here.  
> I don't usually write smut, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it so -- here we are. I wouldn't expect anything else quite so explicit,,, in the future,,,  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


End file.
